


Here and Now

by kaydeefalls



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-09
Updated: 2003-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/pseuds/kaydeefalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Orli was just a kid, he used to daydream about time travel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here and Now

**Author's Note:**

> Improv fic for ContreLaMontre. At least two scenes, at least two different tenses, 60 minute time limit. Done in 52.

Elijah's living room spins merrily around Orli, like he's on some kind of crazed carousel. Or a demented tilt-a-whirl. Or an extremely high-speed upside-down ferris wheel. Dangerous, that.

He plants his feet firmly on the floor and his bum firmly back on the couch. "Hey. Whoa."

"Yeah?" Elijah giggles, offering him another shot of vodka-something.

Orli accepts the vodka-something-orange and downs it in one gulp. "Yeah. Think I've had too many." Where the fuck does the orange flavor come from?

"Sloshed," Billy agrees gleefully. "Thoroughly and utterly pissed." Orli wonders if maybe Billy has a vodka-something-lime, because his glass has a greenish tint. Or maybe that's just the glass.

Luckily, Elijah puts down his own glass just before Orli flings an arm out in that general direction, clumsily draping half his body across Elijah's lap. "Drive me home, Lij," he demands, peering up at Elijah, marveling at the newness of having to look UP to see him.

Elijah shakes his head emphatically and giggles again. He giggles too much when he's drunk. Unmanly, that. "No way. I'm too young to drive drunk." Which is ridiculous because he would give the evil death glare of doom to anyone who would dare make that suggestion, but obviously it's a valid excuse to get out of driving a poor sloshed mate like Orli.

"That," Orli announces, with a grandiose sweep of his arm that knocks over at least three empty shot glasses, "doesn't make sense. 'Sides you're the host. Be gracious. Drive me home."

"No way," Elijah repeats, shoving Orli playfully. Except Orli's motor coordination is not so elf-like after sevenish shots of vodka-something-orange (well, the last one was orange, anyway), and he tumbles gracefully to the floor.

The three hobbits peer down at him, not quite sure how he got there. He isn't too sure himself.

"I'll drive you," Dom says unexpectedly. Orli blinks at him, but doesn't bother trying to stand.

Elijah giggles again.

*

When Orli was just a kid, he used to daydream about time travel. He didn't care too much about the past, although he did sometimes want to go back and change things that went wrong. But he definitely wished he could travel into the future. He wanted to see his whole life stretching out before him. He wanted to know when he would first become famous (there was never any doubt in his mind that he would), how many girlfriends he would have, how much money he would make. He wanted to know what he'd get for Christmas and how old he'd be when he finally got to kiss Rachel Bowery with the curly blond hair.

He wanted to know everything. He thought it would make boring everyday life that much easier to bear, to console himself with the knowledge of all the cool stuff that lay ahead.

But he was no good at science in school, and he never did build a time machine.

*

The cold New Zealand winter air between the house and the car, and then the car and Orli's house, slaps a little of the drunkenness out of him. But he still stumbles on his front steps, and Dom has to wrap his arms around Orli's middle and drag him up and through the front door. Orli's a little too tall for this to work properly.

"Oi!" Dom yelps as Orli's legs accidentally twine around his own. "Fuck!" as he trips over Orli's feet. "For the love of--!" he starts before he and Orli crash to the floor just inside the house.

Orli laughs. He's crushed under a heap of Dom, and their combined bodies are blocking the front door and letting all that bloody freezing air in, and he's cold and bruised and definitely not sober and completely tangled up in Dom.

It's pretty damn hilarious, and soon Dom's laughing too.

"Get off," Orli manages through the laughter.

Dom struggles for a second, but only succeeds in complicating matters further. He gives up and flops back down on top of Orli. "Can't. You get off."

"Can't. Too drunk."

An icy breeze wafts through the still-open door, but Orli barely notices it. He's too intent on Dom's face, which is now far closer that it was before. "Good," Dom says, eyes dark and thoroughly wicked. Orli remembers to breathe.

Dom's mouth tastes like liquor and spice and something distinctly DOM. Orli wonders briefly if his own mouth tastes like vodka-something-orange, but he's occupied with far more pressing matters (like kissing Dom) and doesn't really care.

The door is open and the breeze is cold, but they warm up quickly.

*

Filming will end in a few months, and they'll all go home. At first, they'll miss each other horribly, and make lots of long-distance phone calls, and buy lots of plane tickets.

But time goes by.

Orli will become an overnight superstar. He'll get a ridiculous amount of offers, and bounce from film to film. Girls everywhere will scream his name and try to get into his pants. And he'll let them. It will be just as he always imagined. Lots of money, lots of girlfriends. Famous. He'll have the life of his dreams.

But at every Lord of the Rings premiere or function, he'll see them all again. And it'll never be the same. He'll hug them and kiss them sloppily on the cheek and pose for pictures and wonder how hobbitsnorli became the hobbits...and Orlando Bloom. They'll get closer and closer, and he'll be pushed further and further away.

Dom won't be anywhere near as famous as Orli, but Orli will envy him all the same.

*

Orli never figured out the logistics of time travel, but right now he couldn't care less. Not with Dom's hands leaving white marks on his back, Dom's tongue and lips and teeth teasing his chest, Dom's legs still tangled around his own.

If Orli could go back, he'd wonder why he wasted so much time chasing Elijah.

If he could go forward, he'd wonder how it could ever get to the point where he didn't know who Dom was wrapping himself around at night because none of the hobbits thought to tell him.

But then, who really wants to know the end of the affair at the beginning? Maybe time travel isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Dom kisses his way back up to Orli's mouth, sucks on his lower lip while Orli growls into the kiss and pulls Dom's hand down to -- yeah, right there, that's better. Right here, right now, he knows what he wants.


End file.
